


Nice Day for a Witcher Wedding

by james



Series: Cats and Witchers, Oh My [9]
Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Fluff, Humor, M/M, Multi, Non-Human Jaskier | Dandelion, Wedding, Werecats, am I really going to tag them all when hardly any of them have lines, catnip is not a toy and should be used responsibly, one dead monster, several Witcher characters not listed appear in this story
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-24
Updated: 2020-08-24
Packaged: 2021-03-06 18:47:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,030
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26083684
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/james/pseuds/james
Summary: Jaskier and Geralt have a wedding.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Series: Cats and Witchers, Oh My [9]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1771585
Comments: 25
Kudos: 277





	Nice Day for a Witcher Wedding

It was, in the end, a convoluted mess of compromise. Jaskier couldn't say he was surprised, really. Their whole lives were a convoluted mess of compromise. At least they'd finally reached the point where they were _compromising_ and not storming off in opposite directions to travel separately for a few weeks. Start as you mean to go on, Jaskier remembered his grandmother's words, though in this case they weren't exactly starting anything. The only thing that would really change after the ceremony was that Jaskier could use the word “husband” as often as physically possible, because he'd discovered it made the tips of Geralt's ears go pink.

 _Witchers are incapable of blushing,_ according to most of the Witchers Jaskier had queried. But Witchers were not incapable of lying, and Lambert had demonstrated memorably how to make each of his brothers blush, under the right circumstances. With Eskel, he'd waited until the other Witcher was off-guard, then gave him what was apparently an honest and sincere compliment. Not only had Eskel dropped a knife on his foot, but his ears had gone nicely red and the very top of his cheeks had gone pink. With Geralt, Lambert had sat on his lap and leant backwards into a hug, then stayed there, happy and content until Geralt couldn't take it any more. They'd both growled when Jaskier had paid Lambert a handful of coin for his service to the bardic arts. Lambert had run; Jaskier had shifted and looked cute at them until they stopped wanting to strangle him. Or at least had stopped trying to.

Afterwards Lambert had almost been uninvited from the wedding, except for how Jaskier had pointed out he'd been half-responsible and therefore should also either be banned from the wedding or Lambert had to be allowed to attend. That had led to three hours of yelling at Geralt that they were having a wedding, you get back here you asshole do you want to tell Yennefer she has to cancel all her plans and also I will cut your dick off.

 _That_ had led to a discussion of Witcher healing and how much a Witcher could lose and still have it grow back eventually, which had led to Vesemir taking away all the alcohol and banning sharp objects for the rest of the night.

But all was well that ended – or began, or continued on as before – well, as Jaskier was now standing on a high desert butte surrounded by friends and family. They'd portaled in, Triss and Yennefer had set up a large tent to one side with long tables, ready for the feast following the ceremony.

Mousesack was standing near the edge of the butte, dressed in what he swore was druidic finery, but Jaskier had no real clue. It could have been his sleepshirt, but he was looking calm and majestic and willing to marry them permanently, so Jaskier didn't argue. The rest of the guests were spread out on either side of Jaskier and Geralt – not nearly as many as Jaskier had once upon a time dreamt would be attending his wedding, but in those days he'd only had a hazy vision of who he might marry. In his youth he'd imagined marrying royalty of some kind, with an entire castle decked out in the finest of everything. Or he'd have picked among the bevy of smitten darlings gathering to hear him sing, and he'd have locked eyes with one of them and fallen forever in True Love.

He hadn't even thought about falling in love with someone who preferred to have ichor stains on his clothes than wear something with silver embroidery. Geralt was still frowning and tugging at the edge of his tunic, and from the way he kept shifting his shoulders, Jaskier knew he was missing the weight of his swords on his back.

Geralt glanced up just then and caught him staring; a soft smile appeared on his face as they stared at one another. 

“Wait until after, to do that,” Yennefer said into Jaskier's ear. “You'll have the rest of your lives to stare into each other's eyes.”

“But Yen, I _love_ him,” Jaskier said, both to annoy her with his woeful, aching schoolboy tone, but also because he _did._

Geralt rolled his eyes and snorted, and shifted his hands again as though he had absolutely no idea what to do with them.

They'd discussed and debated various plans for how they would walk up, alone or together, tossing out traditions from all different cultures of the Continent, and even a few out of fairy tales that Jaskier remembered reading at Oxenfurt. He'd voted for the one where Geralt carried him up like a prize won, and Yennefer had pointed out they wanted Geralt to attend the ceremony and not just take off with him, running for the distant mountains.

Geralt had argued for the one where they sat around the hearth at Kaer Morhen, said a few words with tankards of ale, then went upstairs to consummate the marriage. Except Eskel had pointed out that if everyone was gathered around with drink, they'd also most likely break out their Gwent cards and they'd forget to actually have a wedding – not to mention the Witchers would eventually be forced to strangle Jaskier for cheating. (Jaskier objected to them ever figuring out when he was cheating as they hadn't done so yet, which derailed that part of the wedding discussion for a good long while. Geralt failed to offer to protect him, the brute.)

It had actually been Vesemir who'd finally slammed his fist on the table and said how it would go, because if he had to listen to their nonsense for one more minute he was going to – well, he hadn't specified but he'd grumbled and glared and they'd all agreed that they needed to just do it.

The location had been picked because it was one place they could reasonably be safe, given that not all of their guests could be freely invited into Kaer Morhen. Anyone approaching the butte would be clearly visible, and all of the _guests_ were as armed as they wished to be, which had made Geralt extremely grumpy.

Right now he was looking more fond than grumpy, so Jaskier gave him an encouraging smile. Jaskier turned towards him a bit, feeling how the long skirts of his dress swished around, and he was so going to re-do all of his performing outfits to have skirts. He could see not wanting to walk distances in them, he'd only tripped three times on the short climb up from the portaling-in spot, and Yennefer had been very good about laughing at him quietly. Sort of.

But Geralt had put his hand under Jaskier's arm after that and held him steady, and walking up here beside him had made Jaskier think of all the wonderful reasons why he wanted to marry him.

“What's that?” Lambert asked, sounding half-bored by everything.

Jaskier looked over, as did everyone else, and he scowled. In the not-too-far distance was something very large, and lumbering, and headed towards them. Beside him, Geralt took one step and Jaskier snatched the sleeve of his jacket. “Don't you dare!”

Geralt looked back at him, the expression on his face was one Jaskier had seen a million times. _This isn't the time, Jaskier, I have to go kill something. Stay here, stop talking, don't get into trouble._

Jaskier balled his other fist and put it on his hip. “You are not going to go kill that thing! You are wearing your wedding outfit!”

Geralt frowned back at him, and pointed towards the lumbering giant thing. “But--”

“No.” Jaskier didn't let go of his sleeve.

Scowling harder, Geralt jabbed his finger like maybe Jaskier hadn't _seen._ “Big monster.”

“And there are half a dozen Witchers, three mages, one higher vampire, a druid, a mercenary, and I have no clue what that guy is,” Jaskier waved his hand towards someone who had claimed to be a friend of Geralt's, and Geralt hadn't disagreed with him. A troll, Jaskier thought, and he might have objected on principle, but he'd brought a potted plant of catnip as a wedding gift, so as far as Jaskier was concerned he was family. “Any of them can go kill that thing. You are _not going._ ” 

Geralt glared, his jaw set in a stubborn expression that Jaskier also had seen a million times, and responded with his own stubborn-jaw, which wasn't as intimidating but was much cuter.

“It won't take us long,” Geralt argued, but he wasn't pulling his arm free, which meant...something. 

“You can go kill monsters after the wedding – and honeymoon, don't think we are skipping our honeymoon to kill things,” Jaskier sniffed. “That cottage is in a guaranteed monster-free zone.” It had been Vesemir and Yennefer's present, though Jaskier suspected some of the others had helped clear any monsters from the area. They had two weeks to do nothing but relax at the coast, frolic in the sea, and never put on clothes at all.

“But I--”

“Taken care of,” Lambert drawled, and Jaskier looked over. Lambert was wiping one of his blades with a cloth, and in not-nearly-as-not-too-far distance, there was a giant lump of a monster, lying on the ground, burning. “Ran down while you were arguing.” He shrugged at them as he put his sword back in its scabbard and resumed his spot in the line-up, next to Eskel and Auckes.

Jaskier blinked. He looked at the big monster, thought about Lambert killing the thing by himself, and looked back at Geralt.

“Right. Wedding!” He grinned, and Geralt sighed, but smiled.

“Wedding,” he agreed. Jaskier wanted to tease him for not sounding more excited. Instead he leaned up and kissed him.

“Can't do that 'til after!” Mordain called out.

“Can to!” Jaskier called back. “I can kiss him any time I like!” And he did, once more, just to prove it.

He did suspect Geralt was kissing him back because it meant delaying the part where Mousesack said a lot of fancy words and they said fancy words back while everyone watched, but well, everyone was watching them right now. In fact...Jaskier glanced over and Mousesack was looking at them, extremely unimpressed and also unsurprised.

“Do you two accept being bound together forever, so on and so forth?” Mousesack said.

“Yes,” Geralt said quickly, probably before Yennefer could yell at them that they had _rehearsed speeches._

“Yes,” Jaskier said, because he didn't need fancy words. His life was full of fancy words, poetry and song and beauty, but his life was also full of Geralt who, it could be said, had very few words of any kind at all. Except sarcastic ones, or drunken confessions that Jaskier held dear to his heart (some for blackmail, some for repeating back in bed.)

He'd wanted a wedding, but he also dearly wanted Geralt to be happy. He knew that making him say the things they'd memorised wasn't necessary.

Jaskier kissed him again, as behind them Mousesack said, “I bind thee, you're married, can we get drunk now?”

There was a cheer from the entire group, and Jaskier didn't bother looking at any of them to see who reached the tent first. The feast itself would appear when Yennefer and Triss magicked it up, and why that meant they'd argued over recipes, Jaskier wasn't sure. He'd learned not to ask for fear of getting lectured about chaos and spells and are you listening Jaskier what would your Professors say.

(They'd say he hadn't changed a bit since his student days, but he'd passed his classes, so there.)

Jaskier could hear everyone heading over, though, but he wasn't quite ready to let Geralt go just yet. Geralt was smiling at him, relaxed and happy, and his eyes were clear of all the worries he'd been trying to hide.

Jaskier bumped his nose against Geralt's, and Geralt laughed. Jaskier pressed his cheek against his and was very tempted to start rubbing, but if he started he wouldn't stop for a bit and from the sound of it the feast had started. Right now everyone was ignoring them (or pretending to), but Jaskier was fairly sure that wouldn't last much longer.

Geralt began rubbing his fingers along Jaskier's chin, and Jaskier sighed happily. He could smell Geralt's scent, mingled with his own as Geralt rubbed his hands lightly down Jaskier's neck. 

Geralt gave him another quick kiss. “Come on,” he said. “They won't leave us anything.”

“Damn right!” Lambert yelled.

“He's going to be insufferable about killing that thing, won't he?” Jaskier asked, and let Geralt take his arm and lead him towards the tent. There were two chairs set at the head of the table, so everyone could jeer and coo over them being cute.

“Probably,” Geralt agreed. 

“Damn right,” Lambert agreed, and he held up his tankard for a toast. “Here's to killing the fucking thing! And these two assholes,” he gestured as they walked past.

Everyone cheered, and Jaskier grinned, looking over the small crowd. It wasn't anything like what he'd ever dreamt. Zoltan and Dudu were arguing quietly together, heads down even as they grabbed legs of roasted bird. The Witchers were spread out along the entire other side of the table, talking about Lambert's short-lived “battle” and comparing it with other monsters-I-have-known. Regis and Vesemir were watching, exchanging bemused looks that Jaskier privately dubbed 'old man sits on porch, discusses weather.'

Triss and Yennefer were clinking glasses of very good wine, giggling with Shani and Priscilla, who had, in Jaskier's opinion, done a very fine job of matching their dresses to his. All the colors had complimented one another splendidly, and when he'd first seen them all Jaskier had wished, vaguely, that they'd been able to stand before a crowd at the castle in his childhood dreams, to be seen by hundreds of well-wishers.

There was a burping contest starting at the other end of the table, Zoltan and Auckes and Eskel. Jaskier pulled his skirts up a bit and let Geralt help him into his chair, then leaned over as Geralt sat down and took his hand. Probably the noble royalty of his dreams wouldn't let him get married in a _dress._ He was fairly sure his father was rolling in his grave after the news of Jaskier marrying a Witcher had killed him.

“Mm?” Geralt leaned in, a faint look of worry on his face and Jaskier realised he'd smelled the change in Jaskier's mood.

“Sorry,” Jaskier whispered, pressing close to him. He wrinkled his nose. “Parents,” he offered as explanation. They'd had this talk before, years ago, and Geralt never brought them up, only waiting for Jaskier to chose to talk about them. Distant and unaffectionate, Jaskier had no idea if his father even was his _real_ father. Surely the man had never turned into a cat, and he'd been unamused whenever Jaskier had done so as a kitten. His mother had always been unhappy and tense, and only shifted when his father was gone. 

She never told him much, but had taken him one summer to visit his grandmother, who had spent the entire visit teaching young Julian everything she knew and playing with him in the garden. She'd died when he was still young, and his mother had passed before he'd left for Oxenfurt. He'd stopped speaking to his father, who hadn't made any noticeable effort to contact him in the ensuing years.

Jaskier's real family was gathered here, now, laughing and feasting, glorying in Lambert's kill and gossiping about potions that – okay, wow, Jaskier did not want to listen in on that any longer. He hoped they were speaking figuratively about shriveled penises and not, well -- obviously it was a metaphor. _Obviously._

He pressed his legs together briefly, distracted himself by giving Geralt another kiss, then turned his attention to the platters of food before them. No one used _cat_ penises in spellwork, anyhow. Geralt would probably object.

He wanted to think about better circumstances involving Geralt and his penis anyway, but first he wanted to stuff himself with food and drink and drape himself across his husband – husband! He could say that now!

Jaskier grinned at Geralt, who looked at him, bemused and only pretending to be concerned because when was Jaskier ever the one to cause trouble? Never, that was when. Jaskier booped his nose against Geralt's.

“Hey, husband,” he said, tasting the words in his mouth. There were songs cramming into his head, filled with joy and love and flowers and stars, and not a single shriveled penis in any of the lyrics. At all.

Yennefer was choking a bit on her wine. Served her right for eavesdropping, Jaskier thought at her.

But Geralt was looking happy and soft and like someone had hit him with a very large rock and he didn't really mind. He sighed, leaned over and bumped his nose into Jaskier's. “Husband,” Geralt said, quietly.

“I fucking win!” Mordain yelled, leaping up. “Pay up, assholes!”

There was a large amount of grumbling, then coins making their way to Mordain – Zoltan threw some at Mordain's head from across the table, and Lambert caught them, which made Mordain leap on him to wrestle them away.

Eskel shoved them away from the table and kept eating. 

Jaskier, meanwhile, was wondering why they'd been given two chairs, instead of one wide one, because he was ready to be in Geralt's lap.

“Oh look, it's time to go,” Yennefer said, and a portal appeared behind them. She waved one hand and Jaskier found himself flying through the air. He landed on a floor, Geralt on his hands and knees beside him. Looking around, he saw their honeymoon cottage.

“Did she send us any food?” Jaskier asked. The roasted fish had smelled amazing, but he hadn't got around to eating any yet.

“Do you want to find out?” Geralt asked, and he was growling, crawling over to loom over Jaskier where he was sprawled. Jaskier decided that getting undressed was a much, much better proposition.

Fish could wait.


End file.
